


Contrast

by verus_janus (Methleigh)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Methleigh/pseuds/verus_janus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius and Severus, on a Death Eater mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contrast

Lucius had been turning as he had slit the man's throat, scribing a silver arc of steel at the end. The blood had thrown a delineated wash across the front of his coat, and now it was dripping down in combed streams of red on dark grey, almost as if it had been arranged to do so with deliberate care.

He had cast the Morsmordre above the house while Severus had been arranging the body. The village had been quiet but not deserted. Perhaps the man had thought that might serve to protect him, but carrying names in a chain of information only ensured that more of the bearers would die. 

Lucius’ lip curled. Stupidity. And there was Severus, his cuffs and dark clothes smeared rust. Lucius held the silver portkey – a real key this time – out to the other man, avoiding the stained fingers.

* * *

Severus’ hair was wet at the back of his neck, dampening his collar as he waited for Lucius. When they had arrived at the manor, Lucius had asked him to bathe at once. Pure in everything, he never liked anything to mar his immaculate home, even in the short time before the house-elves could correct each imperceptible hint of disorder or speck of the unclean. When Severus emerged from the bath his clothes had been lying spotless, folded or neatly hung, and he had donned them once again, closely buttoned head to toe, showing no trace of the ended life.

Severus moved around restlessly, waiting for Lucius. Inactive, his mind replayed portions of the afternoon, almost superimposed on the Malfoy sitting room. He remembered the man’s eyes, each time the Cruciatis had been lifted, looking up more and more wildly into his own eyes as Severus had cradled his head, forcing his jaw tight to prevent the screams. The man's eyes had still looked up at him in this way when his teeth had shattered at Severus’ hands.

It was a technique – letting victims consciously or subconsciously realise the Death Eaters had no fear or weakness; had no need even to set protective spells. Prudence was enforced with brutal hands. At first the man had asked him aloud, then only his eyes had pleaded for mercy.

Severus knew what it was like. He had felt the curse himself, simply in pure pain at whim of the Dark Lord. He himself had been without the option of unburdening himself to end the literal excruciation. He knew and felt the Dark spell arcing through the man as he held him. Eventually, of course, spitting blood and broken porcelain, the man had told them what they had asked. The man’s endurance had been strong. He had held on to hope of life somehow, irrationally yet instinctively, through that agony they inflicted. It had been for nothing but Lucius’ knife.

When they arrived he had offered them tea, hoping perhaps to convince them to spare him. Masked, they had not accepted it, and his matching teacups lay smashed on his hearth, near his now-smashed head.

* * *

Lucius came from the bath, smelling of subtle cool lilac, dressed in embroidered white silk lounge-wear and robes that curved, flowing around him when he moved rather than folding. His hair was dry and curled, tied back with a ribbon. “A drink before you go? Whiskey?”

“Please.”

For himself he opened and poured a chill white wine from a newly-developed grape. Its overtones were dry and slightly floral. When he turned back Severus’ whiskey was gone. Lucius shook his head slightly. He was still lacking nonchalance, after all this time. “I had meant to toast success.”

* * *

Severus idly took a photo of Draco from the white-painted mantel, formal but laughing. The boy was displaying a new ring that caught the light of some past day in the sun. Severus looked at him, spoiled yet proud of such a small thing. He brushed his fingertips over it. He thought of Draco’s grandfather, Severus' own patron. He thought of Draco as he might be years from now, holding a knife dripping red as Lucius’ had been today. He thought of Lucius himself, treating the boy as matter-of-factly as he did Severus. 

Long elegant fingers plucked the little portrait from his hand and replaced it on the mantel.

“My son.”


End file.
